White Flag
by CaptScarlett
Summary: Never, at any crisis of her life, had he known her to have a handkerchief.


**A/N Sign ups for the Sunny Funny Ficathon close tomorrow (or when we check our emails on Saturday morning) so if you're considering joining the party, please get your sentence in ASAP. Details are in chapter 1 of Scarlett Jaimie's 'Responsibilities' if you don't know what I'm talking about. We're up to 19 players at last count. Come on, you know you want to make it 20!**

**Obviously this isn't a ficathon story, but it provides a (hopefully) nice example of what could have been done with the line "Never, at any crisis of your life, have I known you to have a handkerchief." ****If that was going to be anybody's choice, sorry I've stolen it and please pick another! :) **

**Parts of this still read like fingernails down a blackboard to me, but I'm tired of fiddling. Please enjoy.**

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As the clock struck midnight ushering in 1874 Scarlett pulled her hair from its confines and shook out her dark locks. She must look at fright now, eyes red-rimmed, nose swollen from crying, but she didn't care. What did it matter when there was no-one here to see her? She had made herself pretty for the evening in the hope that Rhett would come home and he hadn't.

He'd said he would be back often enough to keep down gossip, but those two important December dates she'd been certain would herald her husband's return had now come and gone without word from him.

Scarlett had been tempted to go to Tara for the festive season, but she didn't want to risk being away should he return to Atlanta. She'd written him in Charleston care of his mother, inviting him home for Christmas - for the children's sake, she made clear, not her own - and while he hadn't replied, she still believed in her heart that he would come. In fact no-one was more surprised than she when he hadn't magically appeared bearing gifts on Christmas morning.

She didn't believe for a moment Rhett no longer loved the children. It was she, Scarlett, and his reluctance to deal with her, that had kept him away. He probably feared she would make another scene, beg him to take her back and make things so awkward between them that he would not want to remain under the same roof as her. It would have ruined the day for everyone.

That he might appear the following week to bring in the New Year with her had remained a faint hope that would not be extinguished despite her logical mind's attempts to convince her otherwise. But if he hadn't come to spend Christmas with Wade and Ella what chance was there of him returning now? Surely their happiness was far more important than kissing his estranged wife at the stroke of midnight?

Now, as she sat before the fire, legs tucked beneath her watching the clock chime twelve, Scarlett allowed any dream of his return that still lingered in her to be abandoned.

He wasn't coming.

As those first moments of January ticked quietly by and she caught herself wiping her nose on the back of her hand like a child, his words came back to taunt her.

'_Never, at any crisis of your life, have I known you to have a handkerchief'._

Scarlett almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. She pulled his old handkerchief from her pocket, tattered and discoloured from overuse in the past few months, and dabbed her eyes.

It had soaked up more tears than she cared to remember, wiped perspiration from her brow, mopped up the morning coffee she spilled, even staunched the flow of blood when she'd cut her hand on a sharp edge in Kennedy's storeroom. That stubborn stain remained, refusing to come out despite her servants' best efforts to remove it.

She stared at the piece of material. She ought to throw it away, Scarlett knew, but it was all she had left of his, all besides memories, that she could carry with her on a daily basis.

And she did. Like a child clinging to a security blanket or an old man who refused to part with his favourite pair of trousers despite their holey, threadbare condition, it remained on her person at all times. The servants had learned to wash, iron and return it fresh to her drawer each day. She owned plenty of her own of course, but none, save the one now clutched in her hand, contained the monogram R.K.B in the corner.

Scarlett cast her mind back to a couple of weeks earlier when she had been tempted, on a whim, to buy herself a new handkerchief from the newly-opened linen shop a few doors down from her own.

She was there to browse the store in search of a Christmas gift for Aunt Pitty - a nice table cloth or set of napkins, perhaps, that would appeal to her as both attractive and functional - when she'd seen it, that pretty little scrap of finely embroidered silk and lace. As she picked the item up and ran her fingers over the decorative needlework, one of the store clerks approached.

"Season's greeting to you Mrs Butler," came the voice from behind her.

Scarlett, not in the mood for pleasantries, forced herself to return the good wishes as she perused the items on the shelf.

"I do hope you see something you like?"

"Yes, perhaps," she replied absently.

"Excellent." The woman paused and cleared her throat nervously, awaiting further instructions. When none came she continued.

"And how is your husband, Mrs Butler?" The question seemed inevitable these days. "Will he be home for the holidays?"

You know full well Rhett's left me, you nosy little busy-body, she was tempted to snap. "He's very well, thank you Mrs Kirk. I expect him any day now."

"How lovely for you."

Scarlett forced a smile.

"I think I'll take this handkerchief."

She handed the woman the desired item.

"Delightful, madam. An excellent choice."

It's a hanky, you simpering sycophant.

"I'll just wrap it up for you."

And yet as she watched the solitary item being encased in tissue paper, while she waited to pay, Scarlett suddenly found herself unable to part with the small amount of money. It seemed such a simple, mundane act and yet she was unable to perform it. She apologised to the clerk, mumbled some excuse she couldn't remember, dropped the offending article on the counter and left the store in a flurry of skirts, hurrying towards her carriage.

Once inside the sanctuary Scarlett stripped off her gloves, palms sweating and fingers tingling with pins and needles, and gulped in the cold winter air in great gasps. She felt like a damn fool and admonished herself for being precisely that.

No-one knew he'd left her. They suspected of course, but Rhett had spread the word, as he'd said he would, that he would be away on extended business. Scarlett maintained the lie, cutting short anyone who queried her husband's absence with a curt but polite explanation. If she could manage that, then why not the simple purchase of a handkerchief?

She'd been licked, by a piece of fabric for heaven's sake. And after careful thought on the matter she knew exactly why.

It was what it represented. If she allowed herself to buy it, somehow she was resigning herself to the seemingly irrefutable fact that Rhett would never be there to provide her with a replacement.

She'd come into possession of several of his hankies over the years but they had either found their way back to their original owner or been discarded, a fact Scarlett now regretted. Rhett had taken the others with him when he'd left so she couldn't even steal a fresh one from his dresser.

She recalled how they'd used one to wrap around a bunch of wild flowers they had picked in the early days of the war. When she'd returned it to him the following evening, she'd had trouble looking him in the eyes. That pleasant memory of time spent together was marred by the fact that she had discovered without doubt the next day that Rhett consorted with that Watling woman and paid her for her favours. Belle had made a donation of gold money to the hospital wrapped in a handkerchief that bore the embroidered monogram RKB in the corner.

Scarlett had burned that one, flung it into the fire in disgust.

He'd given her another when he'd rescued her the night Atlanta fell, produced it for her to blow her nose and dry her tears when she cried to go home to her mother. Scarlett had been tempted to burn that one too when she thought of his subsequent behaviour by the roadside at Rough and Ready. But she had resisted. Anything of use at Tara during those lean months that followed was to be valued.

When she'd been overcome by nausea while expecting Ella, he'd passed her two. What had become of those she couldn't remember. At the time Scarlett had been mortified that he of all people should have been there to witness her humiliation, but just when she was willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole she'd been relieved and surprised to find Rhett uncharacteristically kind to her.

Oh, how could she have been so blind for so long when all the signs had been there! Why he'd even joked about his hunger for her, his thirst, the undying love he harboured, until she'd ordered him out of her buggy in irritation, leaving him standing by the side of the road grinning as she drove away.

She hadn't even managed to take a handkerchief with her a short time later when she'd gone home for Gerald's funeral. She'd left Atlanta in a hurry of course, but Rhett was right in what he'd said, she thought wryly. She'd had to rely on Will to provide her with one on that occasion.

The following year as she sat in the parlour following Frank's funeral she'd come into possession of yet another. Rhett had made her feel better, as he always did, somehow convincing her she wasn't responsible for Frank's death, although now when she thought of it she couldn't remember what he had said, only that deep down she still felt responsible.

Scarlett sighed and stared once more at the piece of fabric balled in her hand.

The memory that accompanied the occasion he'd provided her with this particular handkerchief was also the most painful. It was the night Melanie died. It was the night he left her. That small piece of linen that she clutched in her fist now had soaked up tears of pure, unadulterated misery that night. Was this to be his last act of kindness towards her? She refused to accept that it was and yet she now believed in her heart that he didn't care. He wasn't just saying so to distance himself from her.

It was as much fact as was her love for him.

Scarlett had searched her heart on that matter through her unhappiness and loneliness these past months. It wasn't just a flight of fancy or a transfer of affections because she no longer found Ashley appealing. She loved him in spite of everything and part of her wished she didn't. What was she supposed to do with that love when he didn't want it, when he wasn't even there to be offered it?

'_Mine wore out'_ his words played over in her head. Perhaps, in time, so would hers.

Oh, but how could he not love her, her heart protested! If he truly had once then his love shouldn't have faded, shouldn't have been exhausted in the face of her obsession with Ashley Wilkes.

What were those lines she'd read recently in that poetry book left open at Aunt Pitty's house? Scarlett struggled to recall. Something about love being a durable fire, always burning, never sick or old or dead, never from itself turning. Whatever those words were, they had resonated with her, and given weight to her fading hope that Rhett might yet return.

His love for her couldn't be dead! Why, it ought to be an ever fixed mark, never bending with the remover to remove or some such nonsense. How did that wretched sonnet go? She'd known it well enough at the Fayetteville Female Academy, when she could recite it by rote.

Scarlett massaged her fingers into the back of her neck in an attempt to ease the dull ache in her head.

She was being pathetic, she knew, a trait she despised in others. It accomplished nothing. She took a sip of her brandy and stared at the fire.

It was a new year, it was time for a change. She needed to pull herself together and get on with her life. It would test her resolve and Scarlett didn't know if she was ready, but she couldn't continue on in this fashion. She was done feeling sorry for herself.

She would return when that store opened in the morning and buy the wretched silk handkerchief if it killed her. That one small thing would be her second act of acceptance.

The first would be discarding the item in her hand.

She stood, moved over to the fireplace and ran her fingers over the monogram as if in a trance. Tears threatened but she blinked them away. She brought the material to her lips, pressed it against them and then shook it out of its crumpled ball and with a slow trembling hand offered it to the flames.

A sob escaped her lips. Oh she couldn't do it, not yet!

But as she made to withdraw her arm a gentle hand on hers pulled the fabric from her fingers. Perhaps her senses had been dulled by alcohol, but Scarlett did not find herself startled by the sudden company. She knew that hand, knew the presence that stood behind her, and she made no attempt to stop him as he let the handkerchief fall it into the fire.

They stood beside one another silently watching a symbol of their old life destroyed.

Several long moments passed before she managed to will her body to move. As she turned with wide wary eyes to stare at him, he put his hand to her face and tenderly brushed away her tears with his thumb. Scarlett sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand once more.

The corner of his mouth quirked before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh handkerchief. He dabbed her cheeks dry, then held it out to her. Scarlett hesitated for a moment, searching his bland face for some sign. He looked tired, but there was something in his expression, a light in his eyes and she finally understood. She reached up an unsteady hand and took the white square of cloth from him. He pulled her gently into his arms without saying a word because for once she didn't need to be told.

Rhett had come home.

FIN.

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**A/N Hope that wasn't too nauseatingly 'Awww'. I was tempted to end it a little less happily but I figure I owed Scarlett after the syphilis.**

**Fun fact/useless piece of info: the word 'handkerchief' appears 45x in gwtw. Hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading and erm... Happy New Year everyone! ;)**


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